Recent History of British Wizardry
by Chaoslover43
Summary: Forced to get a job in a bookstore at the age of nine, Harry discovers a whole room of books that do not belong. As a side effect his wizarding adventure begins just a little early. Largely AU, Hogwarts experiences some changes.
1. Medievale Bookestore

**AN: Well this is my new project. Things deviate from the norm a bit pretty soon after this first chapter. I'm going to be trying to update once every one or two weeks, on whatever day this ends up being posted.**

**Not much more to say this time... Read and enjoy~**

**.oOo.**

A small boy about six years old, with mop-like black hair covering a lightning bolt scar, slept peacefully in a cupboard. Unfortunately his peaceful sleep would shortly be interrupted.

"Wake up!" A woman's voice insisted. "It's nearly six, and Dudley will be up for school in an hour. If our breakfast isn't ready by then, you won't be eating lunch today."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." The boy replied blearily.

Aunt Petunia muttered angrily to herself, and only stalked off when the boy's door began to open. The boy's name was Harry Potter, and at the moment his only thoughts were on breakfast.

An hour went by without much trouble, Harry enjoyed cooking immensely despite being forced to do it by his family, and shortly the big, happy group was seated around the round Dursley table.

Harry stared morosely into his quarter filled glass of orange juice, and picked at his single sausage and half slice of toast. The other Dursleys were busy digging into their much more reasonable servings. As soon as Uncle Vernon, Harry's uncle and a man of nearly unreasonable size, had finished his portion he began his favorite morning activity of loudly complaining about various things.

"Everything is so EXPENSIVE nowadays," he blustered, most probably just for the fun of blustering, "That grocery store charges a POUND for a carton of orange juice! A POUND!"

He continued in that vein for nearly five minutes, while Aunt Petunia simply nodded politely every few minutes. Dudley, Harry's cousin, did not even look up from his second plate. As Vernon was moving on to his next topic, cogs were turning in his normal sized, but poorly connected brain. While he ranted he was slowly moving along a particular train of thought. Slowly, but granted, it was immensely surprising he could talk and think at the same time, for he wasn't all that bright. 'If we had more money, it would matter less how much they charge for orange juice... If more people in the house were working then we WOULD have more money...' he thought.

On and on Vernon went in that vein before reaching his eureka moment. He ceased his diatribe at an unusual place, somewhere halfway between a rant on wait staff and bank personnel. "Boy, I'll be picking you up after school today," he said imperiously and refused to explain further when his wife subtly heckled him.

"After school today? What's happening today?" she asked.

Vernon tried to give her a meaningful look, but it mostly appeared like he was simply thinking very hard. Petunia seemed to be put off by this, and things slowed down from there.

Dudley and Harry shortly left for school, but not before Dudley delivered a solid thwack to the back of Harry's head. Harry glared at his smirking face as they continued.

**.oOo.**

That particular day in Harry's fourth year in primary school, for he was actually nine years old and not the six he looked, was rather boring. It went quick though, and before he knew it he was waiting outside the school. Vernon got off work around five, and wouldn't be there until at least a quarter after, but Harry was used to these kinds of snubs. Fortunately for Harry all you needed to check out books from the school library, small though it was, was to be enrolled at the school and be in the good graces of your teacher. Harry was a well behaved child, and therefore had a book to read while he waited for his uncle.

Nearly two hours past before he actually arrived but Harry didn't mind much. He'd recently taken an interest in fantasy novels. Anything involving some kind of magic or adventure. He had been drawn to them, feeling for some reason like they were possible. He was a smart boy though, he knew on an intellectual level that such stories were impossible. They were a good diversion though. Vernon, however, hated them for whatever reason. So, when Harry saw his car turning the corner he slipped it into his relatively nice bag.

Dudley had only used it for a day before it had been passed on to Harry. One of his friends had told him it was 'uncool' and he refused to keep using it. Harry had received it, and was quite happy with it.

Finally, Vernon pulled to a stop, and ushered Harry into the car. "What are we doing today, Uncle?" Harry asked, straining to keep such a polite and formal tone.

"I'm taking you to get a job, deadbeat. We've clothed and fed you for too long, it's time you began earning your keep somehow," he replied.

Harry's heart sunk, 'Hopefully,' he thought, 'it won't be anywhere too horrible... Uncle Vernon wouldn't find me out of place at a chemical manufacturing facility...'

"Craig, one of my poker buddies, is the new manager at one of those fancy themed bookstore chains that have been opening up lately," Vernon said, "He told me he could get you a job doing menial things for minimum wage. He's doing us a favor, so be thankful, he says he'll say you're his son if anyone asks any funny questions."

Harry nodded, placated. A job at a bookstore, even doing menial things, was much more than he would have hoped for. He was lucky Vernon didn't have any connections with the guy who was apparently hiring hands for his alligator breeding business, according to the sign posted on a building they had just passed.

They reached the store so quickly, Harry only counted two blocks that had passed, that he wondered why they hadn't walked. It was a narrow brick building, with signs for various book deals posted all over the glass windows. The bricks were painted a deep purple, most probably to match the edging on the large, black letters that spelled out _Medievale Bookestore_right above the door_. _Harry was relatively sure, even at the tender age of nine, that adding E's to words in random places did not make the words archaic.

He did not have long to deliberate on it, however, because Vernon quickly dragged him into the store muttering to himself, "Thinks he can stare at a sign all day..."

The inside was much nicer than the outside. From the outside everything seemed tacky, from the faux-archaic name to the bright signs screaming deals like, '20% off Atlases Feb. 2-25'. On the inside everything was much more to the store's theme. There were bookshelves lining the walls, and rows of shelves throughout the middle of the room. Each one had detailed reliefs carved into the bottom and top. That along with a dark staining and a bit of actual age made the shelves appear older than they were.

From a customers perspective it seemed to be one large room, much longer than it was wide, but Harry could see some doors at the other end that probably backed up to offices, bathrooms or storage etc. The doors were all made of wood, stained the same dark brown as the shelves, and cut into planks that were bolted together in the medieval fashion. Instead of handles, each door had a round iron ring mounted on a piece of metal that was bolted to the door.

Everything seemed to be in its own element, except for the exceedingly average looking man in front of him. He was of average height, average build, had light brown hair cut close to his head, and seemed quite uncomfortable in the store. Overall he seemed like the kind of person that most overlook. Unfortunately, as Harry soon found out, his personality and voice set him apart from others. "Vernon!" he greeted his friend. The greeting would be warm, except his voice was so gravelly and unfriendly-seeming that it ruined the attempt.

"Hey, Craig," Vernon offered, "I brought along the boy," His voice was hopeful. Clearly Vernon wanted Harry off his hands as much as possible.

"I can see that," he returned gruffly, "I just need a hand with easy chores, shelving and such, too much trouble to hire an extra employee. I'll just tell Tom, works here part-time, that he's my son." Craig approached the cash register and leaned against the counter it was mounted on. "I'll pay minimum wage, like we talked about, deal?"

Harry was a little disturbed that people other than Vernon considered a nine year old working a part-time job to be appropriate, but he just sat silently as they talked over his head. Craig had been looking him up and down, as if judging whether he'd REALLY be good enough to hire. Vernon was all unctuous sycophant, clearly hoping that Craig would hire Harry in accord with his words.

Harry was tuning out the subsequent negotiations, having figured from the point where Craig said what he'd pay that he was planning on hiring him. Vernon still seemed worried that Craig would suddenly change his mind. Harry had no idea why, so instead he busied himself reading the titles off books on the shelves.

In that manner Harry passed the time for nearly five minutes. Vernon and Craig had quickly devolved into talking about trivial things, Harry's job being firmly cemented. He was to work in the shop for four hours each school night, and for eight hours on Saturday. Both men were 'good Christian people', despite Vernon only attending church for Christmas mass, and therefore Harry got Sundays off. He was to start right after school the following day.

Quite suddenly, Craig looked down at his watch, "Sorry Vern," he said suddenly, "I have to send you out now, it's just about our busiest time. I had less time for this little meeting than I thought," he flashed an oily smile and practically pushed them out the door.

**.oOo.**

The car ride home was short and silent. Harry was lost in thought about mundane things, and Vernon was busy internally celebrating his minor victory. 'Our cash flow will be just a bit better, and that runt will be out of the house twenty seven hours more than he is now. Petunia might have to pick up some of the slack with the housework, but at least we'll be monetarily compensated for this.' he thought happily.

The car pulled into the driveway, and Harry slid out and hopped along the stone walkway to the door. While Vernon glared at him for looking cheerful, Harry was basking in his own internal happiness. 'Every hour I'm not here is an hour well spent.' he thought to himself.

The evening was only barely worth mentioning. Harry cooked dinner for his family, and a tiny portion for himself, and then went to bed. Crawling under the covers he found his good mood ruined, he couldn't help but feel like something really bad was going to come out of this new job...


	2. A Dizzying Surprise

**AN: Well, I don't think anyone will complain that it's a day or two early xP Though it does mean you'll have to wait till next Saturday for the next update xP Which will take longer by a couple days if I post early... I'm sure no one minds ;P Right? Read and enjoy~!**

**.oOo.**

School had passed like a breeze again that day. If the typical breeze were quite sluggish and involved a large quantity of arithmetic that is. Thoroughly bored by his lessons, Harry was glad to be anywhere but with his teacher, even the bookstore with the creepy manager. Which was convenient, because that was where he was headed.

Harry was walking down the sidewalk, seeing many familiar sights from the day before, because his uncle had refused to 'waste his time' driving him again. For once, this sort of thing was actually semi-reasonable, because the store was only a couple blocks from the school. Unfortunately, Vernon would consider dropping Harry in London with a few pounds perfectly reasonable, so this was actually a great improvement on his usual problems. He even remembered a time when Petunia had asked Harry to get things from the grocery store, and he'd been expected to walk all the way into town.

Finally, the store came into sight. He jogged the last few meters to the store, excited about the prospect of working in a bookstore despite any bad feelings he might have had earlier. Craig greeted him roughly at the door, "Hey, kid. Hurry up and get inside and I'll get you started."

Harry followed him inside, and Craig led him toward the back. "The store's only been open a few days so most of the stuff in the back here hasn't been shelved yet. I worried about the stuff the customers would see as they walked in first," he said.

He was right, Harry noticed, from the entrance looking in one could only see shelves that were full of books. Here in the back, however, one could see that many of the shelves were empty. "You're job," Craig continued, "Will be to shelve the books that aren't up yet. They're all conveniently located in boxes labelled with the shelves they'll be going on," He gestured at a couple boxes behind him. "I took the liberty of taking these out for you, the others are in the store room. Don't worry, I'll show you that too. Anyway, this box is labelled Science Fiction. This shelf," he gestured at the one directly in front of them, "Is also labelled Science Fiction. You should be able to figure it out from there. Vernon reluctantly admitted that you're tops in your class at reading, he said some teacher forced him to come to a conference. Anyway, if you could check Tom's work on some of the shelving he did before you got here? He's a lot older than you, but not so bright."

He started to walk away, before abruptly turning, "Oh, and make sure to put things in alphabetical order by author. Just start over again at A for each new section. Think you can handle it?" He asked the last part mockingly.

Harry had thought Craig seemed a lot nicer than yesterday during his explanation, but apparently he was just protecting his business interests and really was a jerk. He knew better than to do anything, other than nod or say yes sir, from living with the Dursleys. So, he nodded AND said yes sir. Craig nodded curtly and, apparently tired of the conversation, began walking away without any sort of goodbye. "The doors in the middle and on the right go into the storerooms. There are two, and this key will get you into both. The door on the left is my office, and you certainly won't be getting a key for it," he said as he walked away tossing a key on a lanyard behind him. Harry scrambled to catch it and managed to barely. He secured it around his neck. 'A nine year old is expected to do all this?' he asked himself. Obviously he did not know the answer.

Harry shortly busied himself with his new duties. The shelving was actually pretty entertaining. The titles would occasionally be funny or interesting, and the authors often had strange names. Maybe this was just because he was shelving science fiction, but 'The Shoe In Space' by Alfonso Rediculo was still a hilarious title/author pair. That day he managed to finish the science fiction section before Vernon arrived to pick him up. The car ride home was again quick and silent, and again the evening was a boring one.

Harry didn't have to do any chores other than cooking dinner that night because of the job, and for that he was grateful. After dinner he turned in early, another boring end to another boring day with the Dursleys.

**.oOo.**

The next week passed without anything of import going on. Harry worked a few hours at the shop each day, and as always life at the Dursley house was nearly intolerable and boring. This particular day at the shop Harry's curiosity overwhelmed him. "Uh, sir?" Harry might have called him by his last name with a Mr. in front of it, but he'd never heard it mentioned.

Craig, who was passing by him on the way from the register to his office, answered, "What is it, kid?"

"Where does that door lead? The one between the two doors for the storerooms?" he asked.

Craig raised an eyebrow at him, "There's only three doors in that wall,"

Harry began to point it out, but realized that this was most likely like that time in London. He'd been taken along because there was no babysitter for him, and the Dursleys had dragged him from store to store in the area. When Harry had asked why no one was going in a tavern he'd seen, Petunia had turned white, and Vernon told him, quite roughly, that there was nothing there. So, Harry gave up that line of questioning and simply muttered, "Oh, you're right, I was just looking at them from a funny spot I think,"

His statement didn't make a ton of sense but Craig brushed it off, and without a response headed back to his office. Craig spent almost all of his time in his office since he had the other employee, Tom, working the register all the time. Harry had no idea what he did in there, but knowing he'd be gone, and knowing no one else could see this door, he HAD to find out where it led. So, while Tom was with a customer Harry snuck to the back wall and slipped through the hidden door, closing it behind him.

What he found was a pitch black room. Fumbling along the walls he found a light switch, which he flipped on. The light illuminated... Another storeroom. Disappointed with his 'adventure' Harry was about to slip back out and resume his duties when one of the titles caught his eye: Curses and Hexes: A Lexicon. 'This must be the fantasy section!' he thought. 'Dunno why that manager didn't think this room was here...'

Looking through the titles he found more information to support his theory. Books with titles like Most Potente Potions, or A Thousand and One Ancient Charms. He grabbed the Potions book, picking it at random, and flipped it open. Dust rose, from the force of opening the book, like a whirlwind. Harry coughed, 'I guess they take this realistically old thing to a whole other level with some of these fantasy books,' he thought.

Strangely there was no story to the novel, it actually seemed like a textbook for a science class involving a lot of really strange ingredients for experiments. In fact, the page Harry had turned to was a recipe for something called 'Fernungully's Solution' which utilized a base of bubotuber pus set to boil in a copper cauldron. From there it got even stranger, calling for ground unicorn horn and crushed manticore stinger. Harry shut the book, thoroughly confused by it. 'Who was the author of the book trying to sell to?' he wondered, 'None of those things could be found in real life, right? There wasn't even a story to go along with it...'

He slipped back out of the storeroom, disturbed a bit by the contents, and resumed his duties. However, the strange room seemed to call to him. The strange books seemed so interesting, and Harry wanted to know at least ONE of the thousand ancient charms. He had work to do though, and managed to resist the temptation that day.

The next day was a different story though. Harry could not resist reading more of the strange books, not that he understood a ton. He had the vocabulary and reading level of a secondary school student, but the books were written a bit archaically and were probably for a more educated audience than secondary school students.

Harry slipped back into the storeroom only about fifteen minutes after he arrived. He pulled the charms book from where he'd seen it, ignoring the potions book that had confounded him so much, and flipped to somewhere near the beginning. He read a page that discussed a charm that the ancient Sumerians had supposedly used to irrigate crops. He flipped a little farther forward and read a page about different charms that helped to domesticate animals. He frowned, 'This one is like a textbook too! Where's the story?' he rhetorically asked himself. No answer was forthcoming.

As he continued to read the charms book, he found that it and the potions book were related somehow. The potions book had mentioned charms that would be needed to make that potion he'd read about, and the charms book mentioned potions in passing. At first he'd thought they might be written by the same author, but a quick check revealed that they weren't. He was quite confused why anyone would be taking made-up spells and potions so seriously. Treating them like a subject the same as math or science.

Still the books were incredibly interesting. Even if they were fiction he still found reading about all the different charms fun. He checked Dudley's old watch and found he'd been in their nearly thirty minutes perusing the books. He quickly scampered out of there to resume working.

**.oOo.**

Now that he knew such interesting books were in there Harry would spend fifteen minutes to an hour in the room every day. Tom and Craig were always quite involved with the register, and whatever Craig did respectively. So, due to Harry's work speed being better than Craig would expect, Harry did in three hours what Craig would think would take four.

With that convenient little deception going on Harry passed a few weeks living semi-comfortably. He'd wake up and make breakfast, go to school, and then work in the shop. He was reading all kinds of strange books on a wide variety of subjects from Herbology to Transfiguration.

It wasn't until almost a month later that anything of import happened again. Harry came in to work bright and early on a Saturday, worked a couple hours, and then took his now-customary fifteen to sixty minute break. However, his interest in Advanced Transfiguration was waning, and he decided to pick a new book.

His eyes settled on a book titled Recent History of British Wizardry. He popped if off the shelf and cracked it open to the beginning. Apparently, this history started with a description of some sort of war between wizards. It talked of one side being 'dark' wizards and the others being 'light' wizards. Harry sort of figured the 'dark' wizards were just bad people. The sort capable of murder, theft, arson, and other major crimes. It detailed the dates and places of major battles of this war. He quickly noticed parallels between World War II and this war. Many battles were timed similarly to battles fought in WWII.

Tired of that he skipped ahead a couple chapters. This one was about a city called Diagon. It detailed how the city grew from a small cluster of shops, called Diagon Alley, to a full blown city. The shopping district was still called Diagon Alley, however. As he turned the page Harry noticed a hollowed space in the book. It contained a simple iron necklace. Without thinking, he picked it up. He quickly got back to reading, and by the end of the page had a feeling he would be regretting his decision, for the page read:

_Since its humble origins as a small cluster of shops in present day London, Diagon Alley has grown to a full blown wizarding city. It is THE center of culture and trade for British wizards and witches. It's shopping district, still called Diagon Alley, is home to well over one hundred shops from __Ollivander's Wands__ to __Eyelop's Owl Emporium__. It is also home to the British branch of __Gringott's Wizard Bank__. There is no other shopping district in all of the UK that caters to so many of our society's different needs. This is due to the difficulty of hiding large concentrations of magic, and magical people, from muggles. Included with this copy of __Recent History of British Wizardry __is a portkey that will take you to the mouth of one of many small alleys branching off the major Diagon Alley. The portkey will activate thirty seconds after being touched._

Unfortunately, he didn't have much time to deliberate on what a portkey WAS, or how it could possibly transport anyone or anything, because a few short seconds after he finished reading he felt a sensation like a hook around his navel, and the images his eyes sent his brain of the storeroom became blurry and began to rotate. At first it was slow, but within a second it was so fast he could no longer see the room at all. "Oh sh-" he said, beginning to use a word Uncle Vernon had inadvertently taught him. He was unable to finish it because the awful spinning tore his breath away.

**.oOo.**

**AN: Beware of Cliffy. ;P **

**PS-I forgot to advertise in my first chapter, but I have a challenge up in my profile. Check it out if you have the time.**


	3. Ollivander's

**AN: Sorry about that cliffy last time. I couldn't resist. Anyway, I'm a little bit early again, but I'm sure no one minds. Read and enjoy~**

**.oOo.**

Harry clutched his stomach, it's relatively paltry contents churning, as the portkey continued to spin him toward his destination. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the spinning started to slow and Harry was able to see a blurry alleyway. Finally the spinning stopped, but the portkey decided to toss him out instead of dropping him. He was sent careening down the alleyway, the portkey had come in four or five feet above level, and crashed into a large stack of small, empty, wooden crates. They tumbled down atop him, while simultaneously slowing him so that the impact didn't hurt TOO much.

He climbed out of the pile rubbing his shoulder and holding his stomach. 'Well that was fun,' he thought sarcastically. As he was getting up he actually looked at his surroundings. The alleyway he now found himself in was all brick on both sides. There was the pile of small crates that he had just disturbed, and a few doors lining the alley way, but other than that the place was empty, both of things and of people.

It dawned on him that the books he'd been treating as elaborate fiction, written for strange people like him who enjoyed that sort of thing, were actually legitimate textbooks for some magical society. How else could one explain the fact that the necklace in the book had actually taken him to an alleyway exactly as the book described?

He also realized that if the book was accurate on that count, it probably wasn't going to be WRONG about everything else. Which meant he was stuck near London in a magical shopping district and all he knew about it was that it had a bank and shops that sold wands and owls. He couldn't help wondering what wizards did with owls. Were they pets? Did they EAT them? He supposed it wasn't much different than eating any other bird, like chicken, duck, or goose, but it would still strike him as strange if that were the case.

He shook himself, clearly he needed to focus. Maybe he should try and find one of the stores from the book? Having a wand might be useful in passing himself off as a wizard. An owl though, probably not so much. He decided to try and locate Ollivander's. He figured that if the wands were too expensive he could always filch one. Vernon was 'generous' enough to give him a tiny cut, ten pounds a week, of his earnings, so it was possible he could afford it himself. He kept his 'allowance' on his person at all times for fear one of the Dursleys would steal it. It was currently located inside his sock.

Planning finished Harry made his way to the end of the alley. As he got closer to the alley's mouth he was increasingly accosted with the sights, sounds, and smells of the alley. Witches and wizards, or he assumed they were at least, hurried from one stall, stand, or store to another. They created quite a racket, as well as a spectacle of colored robes. Most everyone was wearing a robe, usually of one solid color, and together the hustle and bustle of the area formed a rainbow.

Something blue and goopy flew down the alley, seemingly out of nowhere, and hit him in the face. It slid down quickly, coating his lips on the way. He frowned deeply. He was being accosted by the tastes too. He wiped himself off with his sleeve and continued toward the bustle. He merged into the crowd and moved with it toward the left, from his perspective before he left the alley.

Luckily his portkey hadn't dropped him far from where he'd decided to go. He quickly spotted the place, a black building with Ollivander's in gold lettering, and moved towards it. He quickly slipped inside before the crowd could push and shove him in a direction more to its liking.

The inside was all done in dark woods and black paint, with a very high ceiling. There was a counter, also made of dark wood, and hundreds of shelves filled with thousands of boxes beyond the counter. Each row of shelves was so long he could not make out the last shelf in the row, and each had it's own sliding ladder. "Good afternoon Mr. Potter," a voice greeted suddenly.

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard it. He was able to trace the voice to its location perched on one of the sliding ladders, this one shrouded in shadow. The voice turned out to be a man, who climbed down from his perch on the ladder, and took a position behind a register like contraption on the counter. He was rather tall and slender with silvery hair, and similarly colored eyes. "I'm Mr. Ollivander," he stated, apparently considering this to be a full explanation.

He gestured toward the back of his shop, and a tape measure came flying out. Impressed by the feat of magic Harry offered no response to any of the things that were happening to him. "Wand arm?" Ollivander asked suddenly as the tape measure hovered at the ready beside his head.

"Er, right," Harry offered, assuming it would be the same as his writing hand.

The tape measure immediately flew from it's place by Ollivander's head and began measuring all over Harry's body. Harry, not too shocked to be curious, asked, "How did you know my name?"

Ollivander was about to reply that EVERYONE in the wizarding world knew his name, but he figured he probably did not know for a reason. Instead of answering he merely pulled a box off one of the shelves, seemingly at random, and opened it. Inside was what appeared to be a long, rough wooden stick. Except for the fact that it had a handle, and was quite varnished, it seemed like it could have been picked right off the ground. "White oak and ground Devil's Snare leaves, 12 ¼ inches," Ollivander said, like it should mean something to Harry, and handed the stick to him.

"Well go on then," he encouraged, eyes wide as usual, "Give it a flick,"

Harry gave a startled nod and, unsure what exactly to do, flicked the wand, he assumed it was a wand, in Ollivander's general direction. The wand bucked and a jet of water, scalding hot by the look of the steam rising off it, shot towards him. He ducked under his counter, used to these kinds of reactions apparently, and the water shot over his head to splash onto the floor. "No, I don't think so," He said, pulling the wand out of Harry's hand.

He handed him a few more wands, after a brief description of each, over the next minute, but each one was snatched out of his hand before he could do anything. "No... None of those were right... Here, try this. Holly and crystallized phoenix tears, 10 ½ inches," Ollivander muttered.

Harry took the wand, and this time it was not immediately snatched away. Unfortunately, that might have been the better outcome, for when he flicked the wand, wisely away from Ollivander and anything valuable looking, a gout of flame two meters long flew out and scorched the wall.

All this magic finally brought a realization crashing down on Harry's mind. His mouth formed an 'O', "Mr. Ollivander?" he asked, "Would these wands react at all to a non-magical person,"

Mr. Ollivander seemed to perk up at the chance to demonstrate his knowledge of his craft, "They would not, actually. The wands react to magical cores, unique to beings capable of magic. A muggle, our word for a non-magical person, would experience no reaction. To them a wand would simply be a varnished stick,"

Harry was dumbfounded by this realization. He must be a wizard, just like all these strange people he'd seen today! In retrospect it seemed pretty obvious. He'd found out the magic in his 'fantasy' books were real, and he'd been the only one able to see the storeroom they were located in. Also, that tavern in London was probably magical in some way too. "Are we going to continue?" Ollivander asked suddenly.

Harry shook himself, realizing he'd been quiet for nearly a full minute. "Of course," he said, still a little out of it.

Ollivander nodded and selected another wand. This one was willow, dragon heart-string, and 13 inches. It was grabbed out of his hand. Teak, harpy teeth, 9 ¾ inches. Conjured a large ball of slime. Birch, griffin wing feather, 11 ½ inches. Grabbed out of his hand.

The picking out of his wand, or at least Harry assumed that was what they were doing for it had never actually been stated explicitly, went on in this way for nearly an hour. Ollivander seemed to grow happier with each failed wand, and Harry didn't become frustrated either. Each wand came with a bit of information and occasionally a show.

The most recent wand had conjured several citrus fruit without him even flicking it, and Ollivander had commented that this was odd, for the combination of wood and magical core should produce a wand more suited to battle magic. Most weren't quite that unusual though. They stayed confined to some sporadic display of the elements, a burst of water, fire, earth, or air, or some kind of conjuration, like the slime and fruit.

Finally, after a further fifteen minutes passed and forty-five wands passed through Harry's hands, Ollivander started to become frustrated, "I truly enjoy tricky customers," he confided, "But this is getting ridiculous,"

"Am I close to breaking a record?" Harry asked cheekily, with a smile.

Ollivander smiled back, "I believe the record is close to five hours and over nine hundred wands, at least since I've been in business, but you're still quite the difficult customer,"

He began muttering to himself under his breath, "Yes... *mumble* … tried a wand that's good at each branch of magic... *mumble* … maybe something from the older section?"

"Excuse me...?"

"Oh, sorry. I've been trying nothing but the newer wands, one's I've made in my lifetime. They're all on these first few rows of shelves. The one's farther back were made by my ancestors. I have tens of thousands of wands stored up since this store first opened in 312 BC," he said, "It was my thought that maybe an older wand would be more suited to you,"

His thought was a good one, but it was not to be. Another hour, and nearly two hundred more wands later and they'd accomplished nothing more than they had before. Though, arguably, they'd accomplished something in that they'd gotten a reaction more interesting than the conjuring of fruit. One wand, redwood, powdered pixie wings, 8 ¾ inches, had produced a fantastic specimen of the green anaconda. Harry later swore he heard the five meter creature mutter, 'Freedom at lassst,' as it headed toward the door.

Ollivander, fearing for the lives of the shoppers outside, had drawn his own wand and flicked it at the snake. It disappeared in a flash of light green steam that matched its coloring.

Ollivander sighed and shook his head, "Would you mind testing a few experimental wands? They might be the only ones in my shop suited to you. I remember that record holder ended up leaving with an experimental wand,"

"Exactly what does experimental mean?" Harry asked, concerned for his safety. If a wand deemed safe for sale could conjure a large snake out of thin air, then he was certainly worried about what an 'experimental' wand might do.

"Oh, nothing dangerous. I merely mean the wands that I created which pioneered some new technique or another. Some of them are simply wands made with woods or cores that had never been used. If you're willing I'll let you try out this one, tropical palm, phoenix feather, 13 ½ inches," Ollivander answered.

"Oh," Harry nodded, appeased, "I'm sure it's fine. Just tell me the difference between a wand with a new kind of wood and one with some kind of crazy new technique,"

"None of my techniques are crazy," Ollivander asserted, holding out the aforementioned wand. It had been retrieved from a box stored in a heavy-set chest. Said chest had been taken from the bottom of the closest set of shelves and contained a large number of wand-boxes.

"I'm sure," Harry replied with a wink as he took the wand.

Ollivander harrumphed and gestured for Harry to try the wand. Harry nodded and with a, now polished, swish and flick he produced a couple of coconuts. "Produces indigenous fruit when mismatched with a customer..." Ollivander muttered out loud as he wrote it down on a piece of parchment under the heading Tropical Palm.

Harry laughed and handed back the failed wand, "How will we know when a wand is right...? I mean, all of these wands that you've called failed have produced magic,"

Ollivander smiled mysteriously, as he had done many times that day, "You'll know, Mr. Potter," he said, and explained no further.

The wand-maker reached back into his chest and retrieved a second box. "Willow, House elf hair, 11 ¼ inches," he offered.

Harry gave it a casual swish and a vase shattered all over the ground. Ollivander repaired the vase with a flick of his wand before Harry could fall over himself apologizing. "Could you give it another flick? I want to see if it's going to be a consistently violent reaction," Ollivander asked.

Harry nodded and flicked it again. Stubbornly almost, the wand's response was to break the exact same vase it had broken before. Ollivander laughed and made another notation, which he read out loud. "House elf hair, violent dislike for vases,"

It was at that point that Harry decided he never wanted to be a wand-maker. It made you crazy.

From there Ollivander tried many new kinds of wood and core material. Kapok, whomping willow root, bamboo, and even Shankuu tusks. Ollivander had informed them that a Shankuu was a very rare species of magical walrus. None, including the Shankuu, were successful. Ollivander sighed, the fifth time in as many minutes, "Perhaps you're ready to move on to experimental techniques?" he asked hopefully, "With you being such a tricky customer, it's more likely you'll find your matched wand in one of those,"

Harry reluctantly agreed and Ollivander pulled out a box more ornate than any other he'd seen so far. It was not much different. The other boxes were plain black, while this one was trimmed with gold. He leaned forward over the counter and saw only a couple others like it in the chest. Noting Harry's interest Ollivander remarked, with more than a bit of pride, "The dissimilar boxes signify a truly new technique that had never been successfully done before me."

The old wand-maker took the wand out of its decorated case and set it upon the counter. It was different than every wand they'd tried so far in that it was two shades of brown. The two shades curled around each other almost like a candy cane. "You'll notice," he remarked, "That two woods were utilized in the making of this wand. You may not be shocked by this, but trust me when I say that my colleagues in this field would call me crazy for handing you this wand. All other wands made of two woods have blown up in the makers face. It's not well understood, but something about the non-magical plants, for we only use non-magical wood in wand-making, is made magical by the core. Usually two woods, charged by the magic of the core ingredient, reject each other violently resulting in a small magical explosion. They're always harmless, no one has died or been severely injured making a dual-wooded wand, but it is universally accepted that they do not work," he paused to catch his breath.

"So this wand might blow up in my face... Harmlessly?" Harry asked, grasping the concept.

Despite the fact that Ollivander had said it was safe Harry was still a little off-put by the wand. He couldn't help finding it beautiful though, he had to fight the urge to reach out and take the wand. He felt such a strong pull to it. "It's been exhaustively tested by myself," he continued, "I'm not positive what I did, but I'm ninety-eight percent sure this wand is safe to use,"

"What's the other two percent...?" Harry asked, reaching out for the wand as if he wasn't currently asking about possible dangers.

"It is the same as any other wand we've tried. That is the chance that some strange event will occur, like the anaconda conjuring earlier," Ollivander answered.

"Oh," Harry responded eloquently, reaching again for the wand.

Ollivander gently pushed his hand away, "At least let me tell you about the wand first," he cleared his throat, "Yew and Holly, tail feather from a white phoenix, 11 ¾ inches,"

Finally Ollivander allowed Harry to take the wand. As soon as it was in his hand an incredible warmth and euphoria spread throughout his body. He swished the wand through the air and as he brought it down a white aura spread out from his body, through the store, and out the walls. It left the air in the shop charged, as if Harry's little wave had left behind billions of electrons.

When the whole little event was over, it only took around twenty seconds, Harry and Ollivander were left grinning at each other. Harry nodded vigorously, "You were right. It's definitely easy to tell when you've found the right wand," he said.

"Yes, well, it's usually much more apparent in those tricky customers. I find you tend to have the strongest connections with your wands once you finally find them,"

Harry nodded, "How much is this wand going to cost me?" he asked.

"Seven galleons," Ollivander replied automatically.

"Er, how many pounds is in a galleon?" Harry asked uncertainly.

"Oh, my apologies. Galleons are wizard money. You'd have to get muggle money changed over at the bank. I wouldn't recommend doing that alone though. Goblins run the bank, and they're unfriendly to humans in general, but especially children," Ollivander replied.

Harry frowned, uncertain how to proceed. "Don't worry about paying. You'll be back soon enough," Ollivander said cryptically, with a mysterious smile. Harry groaned internally. The wand-maker was back to playing mysteriously wise old man. He'd done the routine multiple times throughout their ordeal together.

They said their goodbyes, everything settled, and Harry turned to leave. "Oh and by the way, the phoenix feather in your wand? It was my prized ingredient before it went into said wand. It's from an ancient and powerful phoenix that I met during an ingredient gathering trip in South America. Phoenixes tend to change colors, gain different abilities, and generally grow more powerful as they get older, and tales of this phoenix had been passed down my family since this shop was opened. So you've come into the possession of a very nice wand," Ollivander called after him with a wicked smile on his face.

Harry mentally crunched the numbers. His jaw dropped. He didn't know anything about phoenixes, but anything that got more powerful as it grew older AND was over two thousand three hundred years old... Well it was sure to be formidable. He looked down at his new wand, with an even greater respect for it.

**.oOo.**

Harry stretched his arms, and then quickly brought them down to protect his eyes from the late May sun. He was unsure what to do now. All he'd accomplished since getting forcibly transported to this shopping district was acquiring a wand and figuring out that his relatives had lied about his heritage. That or they hadn't known. Either way he hadn't got much done.

He made a split second decision to simply walk in one direction and stay along the main alley until he got to an end. Hopefully there'd be a way to non-magical London where he could get a cab back to Surrey.

Harry, happy with his decision, strode purposefully off to the right. Or at least he would have if he hadn't been knocked to the ground in a collision with a tall, thin man. The man had only stumbled when Harry had run into him, being much larger than him. "Watch where you're walking- Harry Potter?" the man gasped.

For, when Harry had fell, his bangs had spread out and displayed his scar. The man, whom Harry could now see had long blond hair, was wearing a black robe with green trim and a green and black suit underneath, and carried a silver snake-headed cane, reached down a hand to help Harry up. "How do you know my name...? Do I know you?" Harry asked.

The man had to hide his shock at seeing Harry Potter himself just wandering Diagon Alley. What a stroke of good fortune! "Probably not," he remarked casually, "My name is Lucius Malfoy,"

**.oOo.**

**AN: God, I'm mean! Two cliffies in a row. Sorry, couldn't resist again~**


	4. Lucius

**AN: Is two cliffies in a row overkill? Well, I apologize~ So, I got impatient and updated early again. It's probably because I already had both 4 and 5 done. So, enjoy the new chapter~ 5 actually WILL be up according to the schedule IE next Saturday.**

**.oOo.**

The man, Lucius Malfoy he'd called himself, just stood there with a superior look on his face like the name should mean something to him. His whole demeanor made Harry think he was of the upper echelon of wizarding society. Harry nodded politely when he introduced himself, "Harry Potter," he said unnecessarily, and offered his hand to be shook.

Lucius obligingly shook it, "Of course I know your name. Everyone does. If your bangs were shorter, there wouldn't be a man, woman, or child on this street who wasn't vying for your attention," he said.

Worried they'd be overheard and ACTUALLY swamped with Harry Potter fans, Lucius slowly moved them back under the cover of the overhang on Ollivander's shop. Harry scooted over without prompting, assuming he was getting them out of the crowd, "What do you mean?" Harry asked curiously.

He knew his scar was the only thing under his bangs, but how was that interesting? Maybe his scar was famous for its distinct shape? Or, possibly, was magical in some way? And it, and he himself by association, had become famous for it? That was the only real explanation.

Lucius on the other hand was shocked. His high place in the ministry did not actually keep him well connected on some, more important, issues. He wasn't even positive that the minister back then had known where Harry was sent after his parent's death. However, he'd expected the boy to at least know basic things about the wizarding world. If he didn't know that he was famous, or why, then he probably didn't know much else either.

This was an opportunity, he realized, he could mould some of the boy's perceptions of the world before any other magical person got hold of him. Or even better he could...

Harry made a little coughing sound, wondering why this strange man had not answered him. Lucius looked up quickly, broken out of his strategic ruminations. "Ah, yes, you really don't know, Mr. Potter?" he asked.

Harry nodded his head. "I've no idea what you're talking about," he confirmed.

Lucius nodded, it was as he'd hoped, "Well, it's a long tale. I doubt I can tell it here on the side of a crowded alleyway. Would you mind terribly, getting lunch with me while I explain?" he said, implementing the plan he'd thought up hastily, "There's a pub, The Leaky Cauldron, down at the other end of the alley that serves excellent food. It also serves as an inn if you ever find yourself requiring that service," he said, easily maintaining a very practiced, though it didn't sound it, cordial tone.

Despite what he'd read about dark wizards and magical warfare, Harry couldn't help implicitly trusting any wizard he saw. Magic just seemed to be such a pure force to him, as if it would somehow be impossible for magic to exist in a bad person. So it never once occurred to him that he should even consider distrusting a stranger, who happened to be a wizard, that talked to him on the street.

Another factor, though, was that he was quite curious about why both Ollivander and this man had known him. It all seemed to be tied to his scar... "Sounds good, Mr. Malfoy," he ended up saying brightly.

"Well, let's go then," he replied, continuing to uphold his uncharacteristic friendliness. As he turned to lead the way toward the Cauldron, he smirked. The plan was unfolding perfectly. Though, admittedly, it was still in its very early stages, the most important part was simply getting the boy to agree to lunch. The rest should be easy.

Harry followed the Malfoy man at a short distance, oohing silently over anything he'd missed on the way to the shop. He now saw Filibuster's Fireworks being sold on a stand, a shop with broomsticks in the window, and even a display set up outside an Astronomy shop offering twenty five percent off tiny spherical models of the solar system.

Before long, Lucius came to a halt. Harry peered around them and found that they'd reached the end of the alley. He knew because, like many smaller alleys, Diagon Alley terminated in a brick wall. He looked back and forth at the signs on the stores. "I don't see the pub," he stated with a questioning lilt to his voice.

"Just watch," Lucius said, his tone slipping back a bit from overly friendly to just neutral, though he kept an, again practiced, smile on his face.

Harry was about to ask what he was supposed to be watching, when a wizard went up to the brick wall and carefully tapped a series of bricks with his wand. He watched, enthralled, as the bricks blurred with motion. Finally, they settled into place, leaving an archway in the wall. "Wicked," he breathed, with a grin.

Lucius smiled his practiced smile and led them through the archway. Beyond it was a small courtyard which Lucius ignored in favor of the door set into the wall on the side to their right as they walked in. Once inside, he kindly greeted the barkeep with his in-public voice, "Tom! One table for me and the boy. A booth if you can manage it,"

Tom nodded from his position behind the bar. HE was a bit more adept at reading people than Harry. Thirty years of working at his family's pub, seeing hundreds of people a day, gave him the skill to know that each and every one of Lucius Malfoy's non-malicious expressions was all practiced political mumbo-jumbo. All perfectly concocted to give the Malfoys a good name. Tom knew he was rotten to the core, though he had to serve him anyway. The man would ruin him if he didn't. Ignoring his instincts he gestured for the pair to take a booth in the back. He nodded his head at one of his waiters, and the younger man rushed off to serve them. He felt bad for the poor kid with Malfoy. He obviously wasn't the man's son, so he was most likely about to have his life ruined in some fashion.

Lucius and Harry took the table offered to them and their waiter was shortly with them. "Anything to drink?" he asked.

Harry realized that this nice man was treating him, he couldn't help but try to get something he'd never been allowed to have, "I'll take a coke," he said excitedly.

Two blank stares met his request. Harry shrunk just a little, "A water I meant,"

Lucius ignored the boy's floundering, chalking it up to wherever he'd been raised, and gave the waiter his own order, "The special,"

The waiter nodded and left for the moment. Harry thought it too strange to ask Lucius to start telling the story, the only reason he was getting lunch with a complete stranger, when the waiter would be back shortly to take their lunch order. So, unfortunately, that left him awkwardly looking down for nearly five minutes.

His suffering was ended when their waiter returned. "_Lectio_," muttered their waiter as he walked up to the booth, waving his wand in a simple pattern. He slipped said wand back into his apron, a waist and below affair with plenty of storage space, and set down their drink orders. The effects of his spell, for clearly he had cast one, soon became apparent as ghostly apparitions of menus appeared and hovered in front of the two. "I'll give you guys a minute to make your decision," he offered politely.

They chose without much fanfare and after another awkward pause, both refused to attempt smalltalk, their food arrived. Harry, impatient at this point, blurted out, "So why do you know who I am?"

Lucius smirked inwardly, but to Harry he presented a gentle smile, "Well it all started with how you got that scar on your forehead," he said.

Harry rolled his eyes to himself, clearly he couldn't have figured that out for himself, then again if his muggle classmates were anything to go by he was a little ahead of the curve for a nine-year-old as far as those sorts of things went. To Lucius, however, all he presented was a nod.

"A dark wizard, Voldemort he called himself," Lucius shuddered involuntarily as he said the name, "Gained a lot of power back in the mid to late seventies. He went looking for followers towards the beginning of the seventies, and by the end of them he had them in the thousands. He made a name for himself as a wizard powerful enough to murder the strongest witches and wizards of our age by personally going to their homes, ripping apart even the most ancient and advanced defenses, and duelling them to the death. His method was actually relatively honorable, he almost never fought an opponent without a wand, however no one was powerful enough to put up much fight no matter what," he narrated.

"One night he targeted your parents. The story that every wizard knows is that The Dark Lord, what many call him, broke the defenses around your house, duelled your father to the death, killed your mother, and then came after you. At the time you were about one year old but for some reason when he cast his curse, it rebounded and hit him instead. Now, this is impressive under any circumstances, but the curse you survived was one of the most powerful curses there is. The Killing Curse. It is unblockable by conventional means, and it kills with certainty, but somehow you survived. Not only that, but no one has seen or heard of the Dark Lord that day. THAT is why you're famous," he concluded.

Now, Harry had a million questions. What makes a wizard dark? What did 'duelling' entail? How do magical defenses work? What, exactly, is a curse? He chose, however, to ask, "Is that how I got my scar?"

Lucius nodded, "Everyone in Britain would know it if they saw it," he said.

Harry was shell-shocked. His parents hadn't died in a crash as the Dursleys had told him, but in some kind of magical battle with a powerful 'dark' wizard? Not that he knew what any of that entailed. He found it impossible to envision the scene with his extremely limited grasp of magic.

Lucius saw his chance forming on Harry's face, "I can see you're surprised," he said, faux-soothingly, "Why don't you come back to Malfoy manor for tea and my family and I can help you home?"

At the moment that sounded like the best offer ever. Harry hadn't really eaten a ton of his lunch. He'd picked a selection at random seeing as he recognized nothing. He nodded tiredly and stood up, stretching. Somehow the revelations had tired him out. Maybe something about being full of unanswered questions triggered exhaustion?

As it were, he put up little fight when Lucius helped him walk over to a small, dignified sign with cursive script that read, '_Apparition Point_'. "Now, this is going to feel pretty uncomfortable, but bear with me,"

Harry looked up at the man and nodded sleepily, "You've been such a help, Mr. Malfoy," he said earnestly.

Lucius had to hold back vicious, mocking laughter, if only the boy KNEW! All he said though was, "Not a problem, Mr. Potter,"

Then he gripped Harry, gently, by his shoulder and with a crack they disappeared from the pub.

**.oOo.**

"I think I'll go with the spinning thing next time," Harry muttered to himself when the horrid compression was over.

He finally registered his surroundings. He was in a dank, dim room lit only by torches. It was walled with large blocks of stone, and the whole thing was clearly underground. Built into said walls was cell after cell. Each one was equipped with a ragged cot, a spartan toilet, a filthy sink, and a set of manacles.

Appalled by his surroundings Harry quickly looked around the room, trying to locate Lucius. He wanted to ask them where this awful prison was. There man was barely a step away from him. He was standing stock still. "Mr. Malfoy?" Harry asked.

Lucius simply devolved into deep, vicious laughter as if he were enjoying viewing some sort of small animal being tortured. "Mr. Malfoy?" Harry asked again, more than a little alarmed by this turn of events.

The Malfoy patriarch turned around, laughed again, and drew his wand. Harry backed up to the wall, scared that the man had gone crazy. "_Crucio!_" Lucius shouted suddenly.

Pain. Pure, unadulterated pain. Harry collapsed to the ground heavily, unable to scream through the indescribable pain, as each and every one of his millions of nerves was stimulated simultaneously.

Lucius lifted the curse after ten of the longest seconds of Harry's life. Harry lay on the ground, spasming violently, as his body tried to fight off the aftereffects of the curse. Lucius didn't give him much time. "_Motum_," he incanted, and the door of the cell on the far right clinked open. "_Infligo_," he intoned.

Harry coughed, feeling as if he'd just been socked in the stomach by five of his cousin put together. "_Infligo, Infligo, Infligo, Infligo,_" Lucius intoned repeatedly.

Each magical blow moved him slowly and painfully closer to the cell. Finally, Lucius got bored of the same spell over and over. Especially after Harry stopped crying out when hit. "_Locomotor_ pest," he snarled, and laughed at his own insult.

Harry floated up to about eye-level, and Lucius directed him to the air directly above the middle of the cell. From there he dropped him unceremoniously onto the stone floor. He then walked over and slammed the cell-door by hand, conjuring a padlock with which he secured it.

Lucius then walked off, taking a staircase that led upwards. His cruel laughter reverberated off the walls as he departed. Harry, in unspeakable pain, finally succumbed to his injuries and passed out.

**.oOo.**

**AN: This is less of a cliffy than it could have been, but I'm still a total jerk. Sorry 'bout that. Anyway the spells are mostly original, and taken from basic Latin translators. Once I get to the point where there's upwards of five original spells in one chapter I won't do a translation.**

_**Lectio **_**- Selection.**

_**Infligo **_**- Hit/punch, something along those lines.**

_**Motum**_** - Move.**


	5. Imprisonment

**AN: Not much to say again. Sorry for ending the chapter there last time ;P Read and enjoy~ Ah, I was tearing my hair out there for a bit! I wasn't able to access any of my stories to edit them for over three days! Luckily the awesome LunaStorm came to my rescue with some advice a friend had given them. Thanks a bunch xP They're the reason you have a chapter to read on time xP**

**WARNING: Contains semi-graphic descriptions of torture. It is safe to read up to the first scene-break, but after that it becomes slightly graphic. At the next scene-break those who are squeamish may resume reading.**

**.oOo.**

Slowly, Harry awoke and took stock of his surroundings. His thoughts all felt incredibly fuzzy and it took him a few moments to even realise where he was, and a few more to remember what had happened. He winced, it was hard to forget what happened for long considering how much it had hurt. He didn't know what _crucio _was an incantation for, but it had hurt beyond anything he'd experienced to this point in his life. Even now, however long after it'd happened, his nerves would randomly flare with pain and he'd wince and grasp the offending area.

After a few minutes of lying in the cell, Harry gathered himself enough to get up, gingerly, and further explore his inadequate new abode. He found the cot, sink, toilet, and manacles that he'd noticed during his brief stint of consciousness before Lucius had gone off on him. Thankfully Lucius had not decided to make use of the manacles. Closer examination revealed nothing new.

He could only guess on what had happened. What motive did anyone have to capture a celebrity and hold them hostage? From what Lucius had told him, if it were true, that was what he was in this world. Maybe Lucius was a rabid fan? Harry giggled despite his appalling situation, wouldn't that be funny?

He didn't have long to think for, he heard footsteps on the stairs. He glanced up, and watched as Lucius made his way down, and smiled just a bit viciously when he saw Harry was awake. "Oh good. I really hate it when my guests insist on sleeping in. Why, you slept nearly sixteen hours!" He mocked.

Harry glared at him, knowing even at his young age that he was being teased, "Why are you keeping me here?" he demanded angrily.

"I tell you a whole story about how the Dark Lord killed your parents, tried to kill you, and how he gathered followers, and you still can't figure it out?" he asked incredulously, "And here I was thinking you might be smart,"

"You're one of Voldemort's followers?" Harry asked, surprise clear in his voice.

"Ding, ding, ding we have a winner," Lucius said sarcastically, "Oh, and sorry about the unkind welcome. I get so irritated when I have to keep up that faux-politeness for so long,"

"That still doesn't explain why you're keeping me here... Just because your master, or whatever, tried to kill me?" He asked petulantly.

"Pretty much," Lucius said nonchalantly, "He'll be happier with me when he returns if he comes back to see I've kept you from receiving a Hogwarts education. That and I don't like to be without a, ahem, 'house guest' for long," he smiled viciously, "It's ever so sad to have an empty dungeon. What would I fill my long evenings with otherwise?"

Harry was about to ask him a multitude of questions; What's Hogwarts? Why would he be happy that a random child he tried to kill is uneducated? How do prisoners entertain you?

Unfortunately, Lucius answered the last question with actions instead of words. "_Crucio_," he hissed, having slipped his wand out from its usual position inside his cane.

Harry dropped from his sitting position to the floor, writhing in agony and screaming shrill, rough screams. Lucius just laughed in time with each of his screams. Something about having experienced it before so recently made it even less bearable. As if his nerves were getting extra sensitive from all the pain they were transmitting. Finally, after another eternity that could, in reality, be measured in seconds, Lucius lifted the curse.

Harry was left gasping and twitching as Lucius continued to laugh. "I NEVER get tired of that," he said viciously. The Malfoy patriarch returned his wand to his cane, turned on his heel, and left. "Enjoy your stay Potter," he called out cruelly as he walked up the stairs.

Harry started feeling dizzy as he lay on the floor, trying to recover from his ordeal. It was not to be, however, for a curtain of darkness swept over his vision, disturbingly familiar now, and he knew no more.

**.oOo.**

This time when Harry awoke there actually WAS a new addition to the cell. It was a tray of food, a relatively paltry amount, and a glass of water. He fell on it with a zealous greed. He didn't know how long he'd been out those two times, but he hadn't eaten since that lunch with Lucius and he was starving. After he'd eaten he climbed, painfully, onto the cot and stared at the stone wall opposite it. It began to sink in that he was unlikely to escape. In his childish naivety he'd assumed he'd escape somehow, or that Lucius would let him go, but now he doubted it. That horrible truth sunk in now he began crying silently, large hot tears streaming down his face.

Harry didn't know it, but he'd been there about two days at that point. He'd arrived in the afternoon and, after being tortured, passed out until the next morning. Then, after the second time he'd been tortured, he'd been out until the morning after. The only thing keeping him from sustaining permanent nerve damage was his magic. His core served him like a magical generator, creating enough excess to heal any damage caused. It did nothing for the pain, however.

After those first two days of imprisonment life fell into a pattern. Lucius would come down at some point during the day, he quickly began coming only in the evening though Harry had no perception of time, and gloat about one thing or another, torture him, and then leave. Harry would usually pass out from the pain at some point and wake up in time to eat his paltry breakfast.

Lucius' tortures slowly expanded beyond simply casting _Crucio _for a few seconds. He made use of the manacles and a diversified repertoire of other torture spells. He had a spell for creating a horrible burn that he could then duplicate all across Harry's body. He had another that would repeatedly asphyxiate Harry just to the point of passing out, before pausing briefly to allow him to regain his breath and starting anew. A third would cause thousands of tiny puncture wounds that burned incessantly.

Always, however, Harry was healed to full health afterward. Lucius claimed it was so that they could keep up their fun without fear of "Unfortunate infections and/or permanent disfigurement,". Harry thought it might be to see just how much the horrible man could ravage his body in the short time he stayed. It was at that point that Harry decided that Lucius was the worst person he'd ever met.

**.oOo.**

It was two long weeks of imprisonment and torture before anything of import happened.

Harry was sitting in his cell, dreading the time when Lucius would return, when all of a sudden a loud crack disturbed the silence. When Harry looked he discovered a wrinkled little creature that looked like a crazed ring thief from a fantasy series he'd read. It sat at the foot on his bed and gazed at him with wide tennis ball like eyes. "Dobby knows that Mr. Harry Potter must be kept safe! Ever since Mr. Harry Potter defeated Lord Voldemort us house elves has been treated much better!"

Harry simply stared at the creature, dumbstruck, as it continued, "We is still treated like vermin..." he nodded fervently at this point, "But it is like we is rich vermin now!"

Harry continued to stare at the creature. He only barely understood what it was saying. He'd had a curse rebounded off his head which killed that Dark Lord fellow, and had somehow made the lives of these 'House Elves' easier? He wanted to ask about that but what ended up coming out was, "Who are you...?"

The house elf gave him a strange look, "I is Dobby, sir. Don't you remember? Dobby is the house elf of bad master Malfoy who kidnapped you!" His eyes suddenly widened at what he'd said.

"Bad Dobby!" he shouted, and began to beat himself over the head with his tiny fists.

Harry stared for a second, but his surprise didn't keep him frozen for long. He reached out and held Dobby's arms. "What are you DOING?" he asked incredulously.

Dobby fought to keep hitting himself but gave up when it became apparent that Harry was stronger than him, "Dobby was punishing himself. Dobby spoke badly about his master." he said.

"Is that like a rule of being a house elf? What is a house elf anyway?" he asked skeptically.

"We is the slaves of our masters," Dobby said, "We must do whatever they ask,"

Harry lost a bit of respect for the wizarding world at that point. Slavery had been outlawed in the muggle world at least a hundred and fifty years or so. "And often we is beaten, and frequently we is starved," Dobby continued, "All part of being a house elf, though their is no rule against treating Dobby and the other house elves like people," he added with a harrumph.

"That's awful!" Harry exclaimed.

"Well, yes, is certainly awful for Dobby," Dobby replied, "But we is not here to discuss house elves we is here for Mr. Harry Potter. Now, where was Dobby?"

"You were talking about your master?" Harry offered a bit awkwardly.

"Yes Dobby's, erm, _wonderful_ master who is, uh, _playing host_ for Mr. Harry Potter. As the savior of us house elves, and most light creatures Mr. Harry Potter might encounter, it is Dobby's duty to set you free from his, uh, care,"

Harry perked up quite a bit at that. He'd started to get into the soul-crushing monotony phase of imprisonment. He'd begun to think he'd never leave the horrid cell.

Score one childish optimism! It seemed he'd been right to think he'd escape somehow. "Wait," he asked suddenly, "If you're some sort of magic-slave, then how are you disobeying your master's orders to help me? You couldn't even insult them without beating yourself over the head!"

Dobby smirked craftily, "We house elves don't age like normal creatures," he began to explain, "We look the same for our whole lives, once we reach a certain age, until we die. We live a lot longer than most would think too. Some poor elves stop aging a lot later than others and end up stuck as a very old elf for the last bit of their lives. Dobby is actually much older than Dobby looks. Dobby has grown crafty with age," He smirked more, proudly this time, "Technically Master did not give any orders against helping you, and I get around my natural instincts by telling myself I'm ridding Dobby's family of a threat. Mr. Harry Potter DID defeat the Dark Lord after all,"

After his little speech Dobby stood there for a minute looking proud of himself. "Okay...? Can we get out of here now?" Harry asked shivering, "I have a feeling I'll end up having nightmares about this place..."

"Yes, Mr. Harry Potter," Dobby responded.

"Wait a second... Do you know what happened to my wand, Dobby? It wasn't there the first time I woke up..." Harry asked.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Harry Potter. Master Malfoy took it from you, but Dobby got it back," Dobby said proudly, and produced Harry's wand from a fold in his pillowcase.

"Thanks, Dobby," Harry offered, "How'd you make THAT one okay in your mind?" he joked weakly.

"Shh," Dobby muttered, "Dobby hasn't thought that one through all the way. Dobby might end up beating himself if Dobby is thinking about it too hard,"

Harry offered a weak laugh at that. It was a dreadful side effect of torture and imprisonment, but happiness was harder to come by, even in happy situations, after a stint in a cell. "Can we go now?" Harry asked, getting a bit impatient.

Dobby didn't bother answering. He just snapped his fingers and _crack_! Suddenly there was no cell but fields of grass under a clear blue sky.

Dobby scratched his head sheepishly, "Dobby forgot, sir. Dobby doesn't know where you be living!"

"What do you need to be able to do that crack-y teleport thing you just did...?" Harry asked.

"Dobby likes to be able to see the place in his mind. This is a place Dobby comes often. When master does not need him Dobby can relax here. However, Dobby could probably take someone to just an address?" Dobby replied.

"Does number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey mean anything to you?"

"It means nothing to Dobby, but Dobby can still take you there!"

Again the excitable little elf snapped his fingers but this time the crack sounded a little hollow, and when Harry opened his eyes, he'd closed them reflectively both times Dobby had snapped, and found himself standing on the roof of the house he lived in with his relatives.

Harry stared down at the ground far below him, things only went wrong when he was involved didn't they?

**.oOo.**

**AN: Not really a cliffy this time, but a goodish place to stop. I didn't want to have the scene with the Dursleys in with the scenes with the torture and the imprisonment. Anyway, the whole being on the roof thing is just comic relief, I promise xP There won't be any surprise twists coming out of it. Until next time~**


	6. Returning

**AN: I honestly don't know why bother writing these before I write the chappy itself xP The messages you guys need to see always change by the day of posting xD **

**Hey look it actually didn't change this time xP How annoyingly coincidental.**

**.oOo.**

With Dobby nowhere to be found, Harry was stranded on the roof. He couldn't help being quite optimistic about the issue, it's what he got for trusting a creature that looked like a thief from a children's series about the importance of jewelry after all. A gust of wind blew across the roof and Harry clung to the chimney. Somehow he thought it might be a good idea to get off the roof. Roofs, wind, and young children don't mix well after all.

Harry DID have a short history of ending up on the roofs of buildings. When he was younger he'd been running from Dudley and suddenly found himself on the roof of the school. He'd managed to get down by shimmying down a drainage pipe and he figured he could use the same method here but with the storm drain on the house.

After waiting for the wind to calm he walked carefully over to the top of the drain. He lowered himself over the side, again carefully, and was rewarded with a position clinging to a storm drain. Slowly he lowered himself, gripping the drain hard enough to leave dents, towards the ground. Unfortunately, a few feet above the ground the drain gave way, and the whole thing, Harry and all, came crashing down.

Harry cringed violently, unhurt but awaiting repercussions. Surprisingly, none came. Apparently the neighbors were all out or something, and when he looked in the Dursley's window he found them facing the telly, which was away from him. He thanked all his lucky stars for his relatives' deafness, they always had the volume at least ¾ of the way up, and quickly slunk toward the backdoor.

He eased it open and let himself into the kitchen, again thanking his lucky stars. This time it was because the Dursleys did not lock their doors. A clean entrance was not to be, however. At that precise moment Vernon had gotten up to get a drink and had found Harry silhouetted in the doorway. His face immediately began the short journey towards purple. "Boy I ought to rip you limb from limb and keep you in that cupboard till you're my age!" he erupted.

Something in Harry snapped a little at that point. Something about being tortured for days without fail in a dank dungeon changed one's outlook just a bit. Just because his Uncle didn't know didn't mean he didn't deserve some kind of retribution for yelling at him after his ordeal.

Something told him to take out his wand, and he listened. He slid it out from it's place between two belt-loops on his tattered, hand-me-down jeans. Vernon continued unabated to a certain point, "You disappear from the job we graciously got for you, against the laws of this fine country I might add, and then stay gone for two weeks? Then you have the nerve to come back here like nothing's happened! Well? What do you have to say for- Eh? What's that stick?" he blustered, trailing off toward the end.

Harry had levelled his wand at the walrus-like man as he'd ranted. Lost in his vitriol Vernon had only just noticed. All of Harry's bottled pain, frustration, and general anger seemed to flow as some sort of malevolent heat from his chest, down his arm, and out through his wand. Later, Harry recalled hearing a bar or two of the most wonderful music he'd ever heard, but as it was happening Harry only saw a bright flash and suddenly his Uncle was manacled to the bars of a cell that had not been in the kitchen before.

The addition was now built into the only free wall the kitchen had. It was only about as large as the kitchen table, and the morbidly obese man took up a large portion of it. Vernon looked around his new position for a moment, stunned, before beginning to grunt angrily. Apparently he'd been gagged as well.

Harry gave his wand an incredulous look, while Vernon continued making muffled, angry sounds. Harry himself was mostly surprised the wand had responded so well. Harry had been angry, and wanted nothing more than for Vernon to experience what Harry had in Lucius' cell. Harry didn't have the stomach for torture at the tender age of nine and so his magic had done all it could. The results were actually much to Harry's liking.

Petunia burst in at that moment to see Harry, smirking childishly, with a wand pointed at her husband, who was caged and gagged. She put her hand up to her forehead and proceeded to faint dead away.

**.oOo.**

The next few days were each quite surreal. Petunia had shortly regained consciousness and, deadly afraid of Harry's new found powers, had set up Dudley's second bedroom for him in an attempt to keep him happy. Harry would have been happy to return to his cupboard after getting that violent outburst off his chest, but he was also quite happy with his new room and he wasn't about to complain about it.

Before that though, Petunia had spent the rest of the day searching for the metal clippers to cut off the imposing padlock on Vernon's cell. Then, as soon as the man was free, they'd had to call a contractor to get the cell removed from the kitchen. Petunia had spun an elaborate story about being a French Revolution expert showing off how the prison cells in the Bastille had been. The contractor had still sounded incredulous but it seemed like all the damage would be repaired.

As for Harry, he'd decided to return to school immediately to catch up on what he'd missed. His relatives new fear of him meant he most likely did not have to work his bookstore job anymore, but Harry found he liked being away from the Dursleys and having some spending money for emergencies, not that he'd had any since the last accident. Craig had taken him back with a shrug, strangely not questioning the boy's disappearance and subsequent reappearance.

Three weeks exactly from when Harry had disappeared, and only a week since he'd gotten back, found the boring routine at the Dursleys almost one hundred percent restored. Dudley, of course, was as thick as a steel girder and had missed the whole fiasco, but his parents were now deathly afraid that Harry would snap again and conjure more cells, or some such mischief. As a direct consequence of this Harry could now moderate his lifestyle by simply taking out his wand and scowling. He no longer had to cook meals unless he wanted to, and Petunia had even fearfully bought him a new wardrobe the third day after his return.

Harry had been surprised that his relatives never questioned any of what had happened during the two weeks he'd been gone, not that he would have told them, but having recently learned his relatives were deathly afraid of magic he just chalked it up to ignorance being bliss in their case.

**.oOo.**

A month after his return found Harry in his new room rolling his wand between his fingers. The Dursleys would have flown off the handle and shut him in the cupboard for MONTHS if they knew he hadn't been able to duplicate the effects of his anger-fueled magic. In fact he hadn't been able to produce any effects at ALL! The stupid thing hadn't channeled a single bit of magic since that one day. Apparently it took incredibly strong, and more importantly real, emotions to trigger the kind of magic he'd done. Not that he had any idea what kind of magic he'd done. Only that there was some difference between it and what Lucius and that waiter had been doing. He could just tell they were different.

He'd tried a million and one things to perform even a small feat of magic. He'd even tried all the random incantations and motions he'd heard and read about during his continued exposure to magic.

He had a feeling the incantations didn't work because the spells were too advanced for him. After all, the incantations he'd read about were in books like _Advanced Charms_ and _Intermediate Battle Magic_. Considering he wasn't positive what either of those even WERE, he assumed they were beyond his level of study. Which, admittedly, was zero.

"_Lectio_," he grumbled, waving his wand in a pattern that he hoped was reminiscent of the waiter's. No response. "_Gumbalini Pyroticus_," he intoned immaturely, spouting gibberish and waving his wand emphatically.

His pillow's edge caught fire. "Oh come ON!" he exclaimed as he smothered the small flame with a bed-sheet. "THAT makes stuff happen?"

Apparently he'd need to have a teacher of some kind before he could do any REAL magic...

**.oOo.**

A little more than two years total had passed before Harry had contact with the wizarding world again. During the intervenring time his life was quite mundane. He held down his illegal job at the bookstore for the entire time, and maintained good grades at school.

On the home front he kept his life tolerable with liberal applications of his wand and an array of glares, scowls, and grimaces. Two of Dudley's birthdays passed, one where Harry accidentally caused some trouble with a boa and some vanishing glass. He'd only avoided punishment by pretending to experience some sort of magical seizure and jerking his wand in all directions. His relatives had jumped back and Vernon had even tried to hold a crucifix up to his face, muttering something about the 'Power of Christ'.

One day, however, humdrum life at the Dursleys was interrupted by one of Vernon's small fits. "... And that's why the Americans lost the Vietnam war." he blustered, "Bunch of backwards rednecks and BANK PERSONNEL," he stopped when he heard the mail flap click open and shut. "Harry get the mail,"

"Make Dudley get it!" Harry returned.

"Dudley get the mail," Vernon switched.

Dudley didn't seem to even hear the conversation, so lost was he in his world of breakfast delights. Harry sighed and acquiesced. Just because he could probably get what he wanted by involving his wand didn't mean he SHOULD. He got up and went to fetch the mail.

"Bill, bill, bill, postcard from Marge, bill, bill, Letter for Mr. H. Potter, bill bill- Wait!" he muttered to himself, stopping suddenly.

Worried he might lose his letter before he could even look at it he quickly stashed it in his old room, the cupboard under the stairs, and returned to the kitchen. He handed off the mail to his uncle, who cringed like Harry's magic was contagious when their hands brushed. "Marge is ill! Ate a funny whelk..." Vernon muttered.

"May I be excused?" Harry asked politely, trying to hide his curiosity.

"Yes, sure, anything that gets you away from my family..." Vernon muttered.

Harry had gotten used to these kinds of barbs after displaying his magic. Vernon was sort of thick. He'd spend half his time in fear of Harry trying to kill him or something, and the other half belittling Harry in various ways that might make Harry WANT to kill him. Harry had since learned that life was easier if he just ignored idiots like his uncle.

True to that, Harry just got up and left, grabbing his letter on the way up to his room. As soon as he thought he was in relative private he tore open the letter and scanned its contents:

**.oOo.**

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

_of _WITCHCRAFT _and _WIZARDRY

_Deputy Headmasters/Headmistresses: Minerva McGonagall, Filius Flitwick, Severus Snape, Pomona Sprout._

Dear Mr. H. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

_Deputy Headmistress _

**.oOo.**

Harry couldn't believe his luck, this was exactly what he needed! A school where he could finally learn how to do some real magic instead of simply setting his bed on fire with random gibberish!

His heart sank as he read the last line, though. He finally got his answer after over two years. Wizards used owls for mail, like carrier pigeons or something. There was only one problem, where was he supposed to find an owl? "Think Potter," he berated himself aloud, "I can always steal from the zoo if I have to... Where can I find a damn owl?"

It was then that he heard hooting from the window. It must be the owl that had delivered the letter in the first place, damn things were pretty smart! He quickly scrawled out a reply about needing help shopping for the supplies and how he'd never really heard of magic before recently and... Stared blankly at the owl. It was a good thing school was already out for summer holiday or he'd definitely be late for class... "Uh, here boy? Can you take this letter back to where it came from? I'll give you an, uh, owl biscuit? Or something..."

The owl gave him a glare which conveyed something along the lines of 'Owls are NOT dogs.' It then stuck out its leg angrily. Harry looked apologetically at the creature while he secured the letter to it's leg with a piece of loose string. "How was I supposed to know what to do?" he grumbled.

The owl just hooted snootily at him before flying away with his note. Harry glared at the creature for a moment before he remembered he was almost late for his job and quickly ran back downstairs to grab a ride with Vernon.

As he got in the car he saw a dark spot flapping its shadowed wings off in the distance. He pretended for a moment that it was the owl flapping back to this Hogwarts place. At least he had something to look forward to now. He hoped the owl would be back soon with a letter that contained good news.

**.oOo.**

**AN: I dunno about you readers but to me this seems like a weird place to end the chapter xP Not exactly the end of a major scene, or a cliffy or anything xP My only excuse is that I need to make a small plot decision before I can write the next scene, so I decided to put it off till next chappy xD**


	7. IMPORTANT AN or Abandonment Notice

AN: Sigh. It has come to this yet again. I apologize to the followers I've accrued in my time writing Recent History of British Wizardry, but as has always been my trouble writing fanfiction on this website, the story is now abandoned. It seems all my stories are written in a couple months and then simply end abruptly when my inspiration and drive run out. This time I decided halfway through chapter seven that I had no idea where the story was going. I knew what changes I wanted to affect at Hogwarts, but I had no idea what plot points would be the result of such monumental changes.

Essentially I ran into the problem of too much world building not enough plot building, and found myself not willing to build up a plot when one was demanded of me by the story. Now, a couple years later I come back to the site and reread parts of the story and find everything wanting. I found that I dislike the narrative voice that weaves the story. I looked at the whole thing and I thought briefly about outlining a RHoBW 2.0 and coming at it with a plan this time, but I no longer feel like telling this story. Turns out a couple years is a long time in regards to affection for a plot.

Heh, I wonder now who is still reading this obscenely long note that is absolutely not a chapter. Though I felt I needed closure, and here it is. RHoBW will not be continued. Thank you for reading what I did produce, and I appreciate the feedback I did receive! One more thing I did want to be known is that this is likely my last foray into fanfiction, and if it is not, it is almost certainly my last foray into Harry Potter fanfiction.

I AM toying around with a plot idea for the Narutoverse, tentatively titled Naruto of the Kagemane or something similar. It is to be a story about a cold and calculating Nara Shikaku and an emotionally abused, young Naruto. When Naruto subverts the Kyubi's chakra to heal an injured doe, he teaches him the ways of the Nara for his own gain, hoping to bind whatever dormant power of the fox to the Nara clan.

That's all!


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